Like Water
by Nightwitch87
Summary: Annie has survived the so-called games as Finnick once did. The last one standing earns the prize. The games are over, but the cameras have not been switched off. How does one go on living? Prequel to the series. Not sure how far I'll take it. PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with The Hunger Games series in any way, and do not hold any rights to it. I am not deriving profit from this.

**Like Water**

The lights on the ceiling are glaring, showering the sterile room in their harsh whiteness. He remembers them too well, their power to make him want to keep his eyes closed, drifting in and out of consciousness. As a nurse scurries by with a tray of instruments, he lightly touches her forearm, whispering his request close to her ear. She gives him a sweet smile in return -of course she does, they always do- and hurries to turn down the lights a bit. Ah, this is much better.

It only buys him a second though. He still has to go forward from here in spite of his feet being glued to the ground. After days of raging at capitol officials, trying to win over doctors and coming here ten times a day only to be sent away again, it's suddenly hard to move forward. He wishes Mags were with him, but knows she wouldn't approve, doesn't approve of his being too pushy around capitol officials. She has told him countless times to rely on his charm instead, and he doesn't even want to think about how bizarre it all is, him charming "lovers" into keeping some kids from dying. That is something he pushes from his mind.

He steps up to her bed slowly, not wanting to frighten her. He remembers how she jumped about a foot into the air at their first real meeting after the reaping, just because he had tried to lighten the mood with his entrance. _Great. A jumpy tribute._ She doesn't startle today though.

Actually, she doesn't do anything. She just lies there, eyes wide open, palms turned upward on top of the covers, looking spread-eagled and ready to accept whatever might happen to her next. He feels that stab between his shoulder blades again, that same feeling he had when he saw her face up on the big screen as Reg lost his life, her struggling to keep afloat in the water as he had never seen her fight before. God, Reg…Annie's face… The images creep up on him every day. All the fight has clearly gone out of Annie now. How is he going to get through another year of "mentoring"?

"Hey, Annie." His voice sounds hoarse, and he clears it quickly, trying to sound the same as always to give her something familiar to hold on to. "Nice swim. There's a talent you kept from us." It comes out all wrong, but he can't really think of anything to say. It's unlike him to be so strapped for words.

He pulls up a chair and sits down next to her bed. Suddenly, he notices he's still clutching the bouquet of the little pink wildflowers he picked in his hand. There isn't anything around here to use as a vase. He slowly holds them up to her face. "I got these from the meadow outside once the guards weren't looking. Thought they might make this place look less…" There's no word for this place. "They're not from the shop, not like those perfumed, smelly-" He stops himself from using the word "mutations" because it will surely trigger a memory of the snake mutts hidden under the rocks in the arena. "Had to sneak them past those guys outside. I guess I'll leave them here and get someone to find a vase later." He puts them down on the white nightstand. They are the only bit of colour in the room besides Annie's wavy dark hair, which is framing her head on the pillow. Someone must have washed it, combed it out and cut out the worst tangles. Of course they would. Prettying her up already.

He takes a closer look at her. There are pink marks and scratches on her body where the wounds and gashes have been healed and her right check is still slightly bruised, but other than that, she looks remarkably white and clean. Too white for someone from District 4. Her skin looks much thinner than the sheet she lies on, stretching over her bones, letting blue veins shimmer through. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she has the look of all victors right after their games - emaciated, broken and utterly vacant. He almost can't look at her. A drip leads from a clear bag on a stand into her arm. Does it bring pain relief or force-feed her nutrients?

"Annie-" He breaks off. He doesn't know what to say to her without doing more damage. He knows what he has been brought here to do: Work his magic, prep her up to be a victor, do what the head doctors at the capitol have been unable to achieve with a few hearty words. They have told him that she hasn't spoken, has refused to swallow unless forced, has not moved since waking. Her reflexes are intact. Her brain is intact. (Is it?) No visible damage. The shock and hypothermia have worn off. And still, she lies here as if dead. A dead victor is no victor. He is to make her usable again. He can't tell her that she's safe, that it's all over now, because that's simply not true. So he says nothing.

"_I won't do it."_

"_Annie-"_

"_I won't! I'm not a killer."_

_Mags mumbles a phrase containing the words "not a choice", shaking her head sadly._

"_There is. I don't kill."_

"_That's crazy!" Reg shouts, jumping up from his chair. "You're crazy! Might as well off yourself right away."_

"_Hey!" Finnick shoots him a look of disapproval, although he can't blame him for his exasperation. "Not helpful. Sit down."_

"_Well, if Miss Morals is afraid to get her hands dirty, fine! I'm not! Can we focus on that, please?" The scrawny boy is flushed from the wine, the food and conversation. _

"…_in training tomorrow…" Mags mutters, handing another bread roll Reg's way. He doesn't accept it._

"_The point is, you need a strategy, both of you." He is so tired of explaining this to them. "And if someone is coming at you to kill you, Annie, you don't hesitate. You don't question it. You have to react."_

_She looks at him, lips pressed tightly together, sealed for further arguments. It's what she does, retreating. He can see he hasn't convinced her, but it's the expression on her face that surprises him the most. It's not defiant as such, just as if her mind has been made up. For the first time since they have started their train ride, she's not that scared little girl from 4 who used to run away from her dad's place with bruises on her. She's calling the shots. _

"_Fine" he says. "We'll focus on survival skills with you for tomorrow. Work a strategy around that. But you need to learn to defend yourself at the very least."_

"_It's not like we stand a chance, anyway" Reg spits out bitterly. "Everybody thinks so."_

_It's true. He can't deny that and it unsettles him that he can't, but he smiles. "And wouldn't you like to prove them wrong? Just say you come out of this a victor. I bet you those girls in your class won't be able to keep their eyes off of you." He winks at the younger boy._

"_It would be lonely." Annie is pushing around the food on her plate again, oblivious to all heads in the room turning towards her. "After everyone's dead."_

_There's an uncomfortable silence at this, which stretches on. Finally, Mags reaches out her bony fingers and squeezes Annie's hand. _

He focuses on the drip, which slowly releases drops down the tube one by one. "I'm glad you made it out" he finally says. It's the understatement of the year, but he is not so sure she even hears him. He leans in closer to her, careful not to crowd her. "It gets better, you know. It gets less real with time. Less…intense." He wants to touch her, but that might just be pushing it right now. "You'll see."

It has to get better for her. It always does after a while, right? Slowly. And Annie hasn't actually killed anyone, unlike him, unless you counted that kid she got off of her by hitting him with a piece of rock. There is no need for guilt to creep up on her every night, unless it's because she watched as the sword's blade swooped against Reg so quickly, but really, she couldn't have helped that. It was too late. She made it out. She has to get better. She can get better, because anyone who can stay afloat in ice cold water and rip currents for as long as she could has a will to live. He has to help her, now that he can. He is her mentor after all -was- although that makes him sound like some old wise man, which, clearly, he isn't. But he has been to the arena, and he can still hear Reg's scream inside his head, too.

"Mags wants to come see you. She's really proud of how you've handled everything." This part is a bit of a stretch. In fact, Mags, tough old Mags, turned from the screen and sank into a chair when one of her tributes was brutally killed and the other hid between some rocks and stayed motionless for hours, keeping up a stream of constant muttering to calm herself down. They had a fight then and there, because Mags seemed to have as good as written Annie off. She told him that he couldn't understand yet, hadn't been in this business long enough, that there was no way of helping her and that he wouldn't be able to last if he got this attached every year. He ranted at her about the cruelty of the Games and his disgust with the entire Capitol, his disgust with her even, and she clutched his arm and told him to stop being a "foolish boy" and start working in silence, because no one needed another martyr but a good brain was always needed.

He stormed off to find sponsors to get anything, food at the very least, through to Annie. It turned out no one was willing to sponsor a "crazy girl" and useless killer who, at this point, had no one betting any money on her. _"Darling, you know I can't refuse you anything, but with the prices where they are now I can't just throw everything your way. She's a sweet-looking thing, but…"_ But just a thing, just like he is a thing, a pretty little entertaining thing to be played with and discarded as soon as the novelty wears off. He has been a good plaything who has played along, who has sometimes pretended that it's all a fun game and he a player rather than a figure. But this time, he has actually played the game willingly. His body's services bought food for Annie, and she clasped the tempting parachute to her, her hunger stronger than her apathy. And Mags looked across at him, giving him the saddest of toothless smiles.

And here they are, all part of a big spectacle, a show with just the right hinge of tragedy with the crazy loser now the winner, and everyone wanting to get a look at her. It occurs to him then that she might not be a frail, broken, sick girl at all right now, that she might, at this very moment, be resisting, defying the Capitol in her own way as she once did with her refusal to kill. If so, she had better stop this, because it's a dangerous new game. If so, they had better never find out.

"So they want to crown you victor" he says calmly, choosing his words with caution. They would be watching and listening in to his every movement in this situation. "You'll go on tour for a while and then come back. You'll get a nice, big house to yourself as well. Well, I guess you know the way it goes. But think about it - a house all to yourself." '…without your dad' he adds mentally. "You'll be free to live how you want." Clearly, he's blending reality with fiction here, invisioning a life for her. They will never, not for one minute, be free. But she will be able to survive, if she can play the Games, and the games between the Games, and never hunger or thirst for anything unlike many people. Instead, she will send other kids to their deaths year after year.

"It's not a bad life, you know. You can help people. You'll be safe. You'll never want for anything." How she must despise him, think him a shallow monster for saying this. He is almost hoping she does, because that would mean that she is still there, that there is still a piece of the old Annie here. Really, he's just babbling senselessly at this point, filling the silent void. "And I'll be there, too, and Mags. It'll be the three of us."

"You just need to rest and get well again, okay? Please. Just get well, and then things will be okay." His chest feels tight all of a sudden. Weird. He looks up to see a young, dark girl gazing at him from across the room. As he looks back, she quickly shuffles her trays and slips away, and from the bowed, rushed quality of her walk he can tell she has to be an Avox, sent to do lower level service on this ward. "When you feel up to it, we'll go outside for a walk and enjoy the sun a bit. It's been really warm these past few days. Would you like that?"

She doesn't even blink an eye, just staring ahead, trapped in her own world. Or is she? He has no idea. "All right, I'll take that as a yes. You know, you really are an excellent conversation partner."

* * *

"So how did I do?"

"Very well." Maddox replies, a grin on his face. "I particularly liked the sentimental touch - 'you can help people….just get well and things will be okay, _please_'." His voice gives the phrase a begging note.

Jackass. He is ready to punch Maddox in the face then and there. Instead, he simply winks at him. "Girls are my specialty. You'll see. Learn from the best."

"You wish."

"You'll see." He turns to walk on, to leave this depressing station, but Maddox moves to block his way.

"Don't even think about it."

"Think about what?" He's never had a problem with Maddox before, not in previous years when he's come here.

The blue-haired watchman gives him a stern look. "You know what. She's a victor. She belongs to us."

Finnick laughs as much as he can. "You're way off. Talking to her is like talking to a piece of wood. I just feel sorry for her."

Maddox makes a tutting sound in response, and his hand brushes against his safety belt in a quick motion, twitching towards his weapons.

Finnick rolls his eyes. "Cut me some slack here. How often does District 4 get a victor? This'll be huge for all of us. Of course I want her out there as soon as possible."

"Don't expect it too soon." A small grin appears around Maddox' mouth. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. "They have some surgeries to do."

"What?"

"You know. Plumping her up a little, giving her breasts. Shaping some cheekbones."

"Oh that." He tries to keep his tone casual, but his jaw is tensing. "Wasting more time, I see."

"Come on, Odair. She needs to be worth her money before she goes to the highest bidder."

His mouth feels dry all of a sudden. He doesn't want to think about Annie that way. He can't think about it. It's disgusting.

"You have something to say about that?" Maddox is eyeing him carefully, clearly provoking him to get a reaction. He is walking on dangerous terrain if he has Maddox up against him already.

He shakes his head. "You don't get it, do you? This girl's selling point is that she's the underdog. She wasn't supposed to win. That's what makes people out there so hot for seeing her. If you change her look and sell her off to the highest bidder right away, where's the game? It all get lost."

"And you're the expert? What, with all your experience of coaching _winners_? Who was it last year, that fat girl who had such a crush on you, the supposed mentor, who-"

"Whatever you say." He doesn't want to think about Riza's kind face, pale with her eyes wide open in shock as the blood was gushing from her throat. "I'm just doing my job. And you have to admit I'm pretty damn good at it." He walks away with a lazy wave to Maddox. "You're not ruining my show."

He walks confidently with a slight swagger in his gait. He knows the slightly older man's eyes are fixed on his back like a target. Only when he reaches the sliding doors and blinks at the sudden brightness of the sunlight does he allow himself to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. Too close. He can't allow himself to make this mistake a second time.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

He blinked. Well, this was unexpected. "Excuse me!"

The nurse turned around, irritated at first, then approaching him with a smile that showed off her immaculate teeth, decorated with small crystals. "Finnick Odair" she said, as if you had to use his full name at every occasion. "Most pleased to see you again."

_Most pleased_, ugh, such a Capitol expression. It always made him want to throw a "slightly pleased to indifferent to see you" back at them, just to show them how utterly stupid it was to rate the extent of their alleged "pleasure". Then again, if he said it, it would probably catch on. Ignorance usually did. "I think the pleasure's all mine."

"Where have you been lurking around these past few days?"

"Oh, I've had parties to go to, sponsors to thank…the usual for a _winning _district." Parties to go to, drinks to drink, things to inhale, things to forget, places to stay away from, people to charm. As per Mags' instructions to keep going.

"Parties?" All with inferior company to this place, of course." He winked at her, and her smile grew even wider.

"Oh, you sweet talker. I bet that's the exact same thing you tell all of those fancy ladies in their gowns of gold." Even within the Capitol, there was envy.

"No need for a gown of gold if you shine from the inside." Was he laying it on too thickly?

She laughed and lightly slapped his arm with the papers in her hand. "What are you really here for?"

"Oh, I just came by to see how my little charge is doing and when she'll be ready to get started, but I see she's fled the nest?" He gestured towards the messy sheets on the sick bed.

"Oh, the little mad girl." The nurse's smile faltered. "Well, she's mainly being a nuisance."

"She's awake?!" _Thank goodness._ "I mean, she's…" What did you call it when someone wasn't unconscious yet wasn't "all there", either? Unfrozen? Back to life?

The nurse frowned at his evident relief. "She's awake, all right. Won't do a thing you tell her to, and we all mean well with her. Tried to get her to take a bath this morning and she nearly scratched our eyes out. Had to sedate her. Poor thing."

"She did nearly drown." All this sedating couldn't be good.

"It's not just that" the nurse sighed, lowering her voice. "Personally, I think the cold and the water have addled her brains and there's nothing anyone can do about that."

"She seems to be up and about in any case." He was keen to end this conversation. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Follow me." She led him around the corner into a lighter area with large windows. If he hadn't known that the government hospital wing was protected from the outside and situated at the core of the building near the research labs, he would have enjoyed the sunlight streaming in through the display of trees. It was a perfect illusion, almost like actually being aside, and he could immediately see why they would bring her here.

But she wasn't looking at it. He spotted her sitting on the floor cross-legged in front of a cream-coloured, tiled wall. She was wearing a plain hospital gown of the same colour, which she had stretched to cover what he suspected were her bare feet. At the sound of their steps approaching, she flinched and her head shot around, but only for a brief instant - too brief to get a good look at her.

"You have a visitor, dear. Don't you want to say hello?" The nurse said it in a soft, slow voice, as if she were talking to a child.

"Hey, Annie -it's all right, I'll take it from here, thanks- it's just me again." He approached her slowly to avoid startling her and sat down beside her at a respectful distance, equally cross-legged.

She didn't respond, cocking her head instead to look upwards at the apparently empty wall. She looked slightly better today, less pale, more awake. The creepy emptiness had gone. She was really looking at the wall. Her hair was clean, he noticed, but tangled, the dark curls falling wildly around her shoulders, covering part of her front and back. He had a suspicion that some newfound aversion to combs and a carelessness about her appearance probably had something to do with it - or maybe she was simply tired of being told what to do, and was, in fact, being a nuisance. He preferred the latter idea. "What are you up to?"

"Counting" she replied calmly without averting her gaze.

She was speaking! An immediate sense of relief washed over him. "Counting what?" He had to make her keep talking.

"Tiles."

"How many are there?"

"338."

"So you've finished counting them?"

No reply. Well, that was a conversation stopper.

"Well, I have to tell you that personally, I don't see the appeal. Math was never really my strong subject."

"…347…" she muttered. Her face was cold, expressionless. She could have been a statue set in stone for her lack of movement.

"Okay, then. I'll have this conversation by myself. Fine." He blew his hair out of his eyes. "I'm a fascinating conversation partner, you know. I'm famous for it, you could say." He proceeded to tell her a drawn-out story about his experience at the trading point this morning, where he had witnessed two elegantly dressed women reduced to a state of screaming and then tears over the last roll of purple velvet. He made it longer, more elaborate, adding freely to the dialogue, making the event more vivid than it had actually been, imitating the high-pitched voices and affected accents (which earned him a scowl from the head nurse as he walked by). It calmed his nerves to do this, gave him time to consider his next steps. It reduced his feeling of utter helplessness in sitting next to a girl so completely immersed in her own world. "…so you should be glad I didn't take you to be a fan of purple velvet, because I never would have gotten the material to Lora in one piece if I'd had to pry it from their hands."

She didn't acknowledge his words. Of course she didn't.

"Anyway, I got something for you at the trading point. Thought it might brighten this room a bit, you know, give you something to focus on other than those _fascinating _tiles." He rummaged in the pocket of his coat, and drew out the small object, holding it out on his palm for her to see. "Do you know what this is?"

She didn't respond, but had stopped staring at the wall and turned her head to steal a sideways glance at him.

He let his hand glide over the smooth, dark wood and opened the top of the box. A delicate, faded figurine was raised up and began turning slowly on tiptoe. The music started to play quietly, the slightly metallic, off-key, yet sweet sound of a simple melody. "This is a dancer. The man called her 'Ballerina', actually. I don't know if that's her name or her job or what. It's a very old box, a toy, I guess, from the old days." He didn't know if it was worth anything. The man at the trading point had given it away for next to nothing, his useless old toy. The guards had let him carry it in, this worthless present which served no purpose. But when Finnick had seen it, it had somehow reminded him of Annie, triggered a memory of her dancing at the change of tides festival years ago. Or maybe just months ago. He had hoped it would do the same for her.

She was looking at it transfixed, her head cocked slightly to the side. Her hands were clasped around the hem of her gown. He noticed that he could see the veins on them, a shimmer of green through her skin.

"You can keep it. I hope you like it."

"Thank you" she said quietly.

His stomach gave a small jolt. She didn't reach out to take it, so he set it down on the floor beside her. The music filled the silence between them.

Suddenly, he noticed that she was shivering slightly. "Are you cold?" She had to be, sitting on an unheated floor in nothing more than a thin gown. He got up and went to look for a blanket, but all the covers on the beds were tightly attached to them for some reason. There were no sheets or clothes lying around, either. Where were the nurses when he needed one? He pulled up a chair on the other side of the room. "Here, why don't we move over into the sunlight." Even fake sunlight was better than no warmth.

He stretched out his hand to her, and to his surprise, she took it and pulled herself up without resistance. However, she lost her balance quickly and he had to catch her by the forearms to keep her from falling. She flinched at his touch as he had known she would, but it couldn't be helped, she was too unsteady on her feet to make it over to the chair by herself. He supported her arm on the way over, making minimal body contact. She felt cold as ice and was covered in goosebumps.

"There, that's better" he commented when she had sat down. "Look at those trees!"

They cast lines of shadow on her face as she gazed out at them blankly. "Roots."

"What?"

"I should try the roots" she uttered randomly. "They'll do it."

"Wha- no, Annie, you don't need any roots, it's all right."

"They'll be edible." Her face lit up suddenly. She was still shaking despite the warmth of the fake sun, but attempted to get to her feet.

_God, no_ he thought. _She's still in the arena._ "Annie, no" he crouched down in front of her. "You don't need to. They have food here, I can get you some-"

"The roots…"

"Listen to me, Annie!" He tried not to shout to avoid drawing the attention of the medical staff on them, but she was already pushing past him. If they noticed, they would only subdue her again. "You're in the hospital ward, but it's fine, you'll be okay, it's over. It's all over. You're safe now."

She had reached the barrier, her hands pressed up against it, unable to get any further. "No! What-"

"Shh!"

"-it's a trick!"

He touched her shoulder to get her attention, but she jumped and shrank back from him. Her face looked strangely distorted in her confused desperation. "Finnick…it's a trap, it's all just a big-"

"-I know, but it's okay-"

"We're trapped!"

_Damn right._ "No, we're not, it's fine, listen!" He took her hands, but she wrung them free of his grasp with surprising strength, shoving him.

"Get away from me!" Her eyes were wide with horror as she studied his face, stumbling against the wall. "You're a trick! Some kind of illusion, you were made into something else-"

"No, I'm-"

"-you're not real, just some twisted trick…"

"I'm not a trick!" he shouted desperately, taking a step back from her. "It's me, Finnick, just Finnick! We're not in the arena anymore!"

"Oh, no!" The first nurse, the crystal-teethed one, hurried to their side. "What have you done- Ena, come quickly, she's at it again!"

"I didn't…I didn't do anything" he stammered. "She just…"

"Ena!" She took Annie's arms, and Annie began to struggle, screaming terribly, screaming as if for her life. It made his skin crawl.

"Don't!" He lunged forward, but was pushed back roughly by another, taller, stouter nurse.

"Stay back!" They picked her up, kicking and screaming, and the bigger nurse held something to her neck, and it all happened too fast for him to do anything about it. Annie went limp in their arms almost instantly, and they lowered her onto the nearest bed.

It had happened so fast, within seconds, and he found he was frozen in the same spot where he had been standing. "What did you do to her?"

"Sedation" the nurse he presumed was Ena said matter-of-factly. "The only thing that works." She turned away from them and left without another word.

The other, younger nurse, hesitated and turned to him. "This was the third time today."

"I could have calmed her down" he said heatedly. "If you'd given me a chance, I would have."

She smiled sadly. "No, you couldn't have. Once she has one of her fits, nothing will."

"What brings it on?" He already knew the answer. She was trapped in the never-ending horror of her own memories.

"Anything. It's hard to tell. She had breakfast this morning, but by lunchtime, she was sure we were trying to poison her. Sometimes she's okay, and sometimes she isn't." She turned from him and walked across the room to unlock the control panel, hitting a button in the small box. Just like that, the forest disappeared and was replaced with a dark night sky. There was no moon in it, just specks of light from the stars.

He could hardly see Annie in this light, laid out on the bed with her arms at an awkward angle. All of this was his fault. He noticed that he was the one who was shaking now, just as she had been, and took a slow breath to steady himself so they wouldn't be able to tell that he knew that it was his fault, wouldn't use it against her in any way.

He also noticed that somewhere in this mess, the music had stopped. The dancer was still.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"…and therefore, our best approach at the moment must be to show face. To show her face, to be exact." The little man had been droning on for at least ten minutes, outlining some sort of commercial strategy.

Seneca Crane acknowledged him with a curt nod. "Thank you, Moteh."

Mags nudged him under the table, and Finnick looked up from the piece of thread he had been thoughtlessly wrapping around his hand. He noticed, with irritation, that he had only absorbed about half of what had just been said.

"It must be so, then" Crane continued. "The benefits outweigh the risks. The victor's ceremony will take place on Madradena Memorial Day."

He opened his mouth to object, but Mags cut in. "That's impossible. She isn't well enough for it. She won't make it through a lengthy ceremony."

Crane raised his eyebrows and turned to an older, silver-haired woman in a plain grey uniform. Finnick had seen her around the medical team, but she hadn't actually spoken to him yet. "What is your opinion on this, Dr.?"

"Physically, she is strong enough. But her mind won't be in it."

"What does that mean?" Lewonder Brigsby, propaganda minister, asked impatiently. "Make yourself clear."

The doctor sat up a little straighter, tugging at her uniform jacket. She clearly wasn't accustomed to speaking at an oval table conference in front of five officials, not counting Mags and Finnick. "She is showing an acute stress reaction, not uncommon in victors as we know, but it is certainly very pronounced. Her central nervous system-"

"Yes, yes, we know of it" Brigsby gave a dismissive wave. "The point is: when will she have recovered?"

"It is too early to give a prognosis on this. We should give her time."

"We don't have time" Crane stated matter-of-factly. "What is the worst that could happen?"

The worst that could happen… Finnick couldn't imagine it. How long did it take to recover? Was it even possible to put a time on this? It had been five years now for him. He was 19, an adult now, really. Annie was 16. How old would she be before she would have recovered? How old would he be? _It's going to happen any day now,_ he thought bitterly. Any day now, because that was what they expected of them, didn't they, for a victor to just wake up one morning and be the same again as before. Beings of lesser intelligence, of lesser sophistication, of lesser worth such as himself, such as Annie, such as Reg and Mags and all the others, could surely be fixed easily.

But how long had it been, really, before he'd been able to at least function on a basic level? He couldn't remember. The months after the Games were clouded by some sort of damp fog in his mind. He could remember fragments, pieces of receptions, colourful gowns, cheering and tears at his victory. The touch of hands on his full hair. Waking up every night with a start, drenched in sweat. The cruel punishments for disobedience, his father- He stopped his train of thought right there and forced himself to listen to the head doctor. The doctor of heads.

"The noise, the lights, the number of people will startle her. At present, she will not understand nor be able to process what is going on. I can't predict her reaction. Anything from panic to complete mutism and catatonia, even aggression, is possible."

"That might not be such a terrible thing" the little man piped in, swaying his head as if trying to balance it on his narrow shoulders. "Remember the victor's ceremony of the 64th Hunger Games? People never showed more interest in a victor."

"Oh yes, very spectacular" Finnick agreed, trying to control any note of anger or sarcasm in his voice. Whatever they planned to do, he had to remove them from this idea that displaying the "poor little mad girl" would have grand entertainment value. "But it also sparked an outcry, didn't it, in District 7."

Seven heads at the table turned to him, some puzzled, others irritated. He clearly wasn't supposed to know this. He had spoken too quickly, a foolish sidestep he didn't usually make. Mags jumped to his aid. "There was talk of it in most of the districts; I heard it myself at the next Games, some unrest and bursts of sympathy for the boy. It is a risky business."

"Well, that isn't for you to consider" the stern woman with the ridiculous name -was it Commander Starlight? Starlet? Starface?- reprimanded her. "Let us concern ourselves with that."

The doctor cleared her throat. "My concern isn't so much for the situation at the ceremony. But if we provoke a breakdown now, the girl might never recover. We might be doing long-term damage, irreversible damage which could be prevented if we just waited a little longer."

"What sort of damage?" Crane asked. He showed no extraordinary interest, but signaled to the young man in the corner to note down the following points anyway. Apparently, he wasn't recording their entire discussion.

"I think it likely that she would dissociate even more -find it harder to stay in the present situation- or develop physical symptoms. She might withdraw completely. Not to mention anxiety, depression, disturbances in memory and thinking… She is in a state where everything is potentially threatening. We are dealing with a traumatised young woman under constant stress, what she needs now is to feel safe and to regain some control-" She stopped herself short, but it was too late. Everyone in the room had noticed her use of the one word she was never to use in reference to victors, in reference to any people who were meant to be under the government's control. To speak of a girl who was nothing more than a sacrificial object as a being with feelings and power, an agent in her own life, was an absurd notion here.

No one acknowledged the doctor's break with this unspoken taboo, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop all of a sudden. The artificial light was reflected off the shiny, cream-coloured surface of the elegant table, off the bald head of Moteh, off the jewellery of Lewonder Brigsby. Crane's face remained as impassive as ever, and yet his tone had an icy note to it when he rebuffed her: "I think you are forgetting who your patient is here. Your ideas seem to be -forgive me- rather old-fashioned."

"Of course." She didn't look overly unnerved by the Game Master's disagreement, but the slight flush in her cheeks betrayed her. "I only intended to give my professional medical opinion. I speak as a doctor only, not as a strategist. I think as doctors, we perhaps sometimes have a tendency to want to keep our patients sheltered and locked away."

"Well" Mags interrupted, once again trying to smooth over the situation. "I, for one, am getting worried about our tour this year. I don't see how we will get through it with a girl who isn't…uh...mentally all there, and whose reactions, if I understood you correctly, are unpredictable? I can't take responsibility for that. I can mentor them, but I can't fix them. That'll have to be the doctor's job."

"I agree" Finnick jumped in, quick to pick up the line of argument. "Imagine her losing it in front of the sponsors. They'll be unsettled by this. It will affect their willingness to invest in the next contestants."

"There is something to this" Moteh agreed, once again bobbing his head oddly. "We shouldn't alienate them. And the cost of keeping this girl under constant watch-"

"You are all getting ahead of yourselves" Brigsby interjected. "The tour isn't until next spring. There is plenty of time until then. But the victor's ceremony has to take place now, as it always has done. We've had unstable victors before. I don't see the issue here."

"She won't have to do much at the ceremony" Star-something-or-other added. "Just smile and accept the crown. You can put her under sedation, can't you, Doctor?"

"I…can" the silver-haired woman answered hesitantly. "But I am not sure that this will make her easier to work with."

"That's right" Crane agreed, looking over at Mags and him. "And it will be up to her team to use that to their advantage. I can't wait to see which spin they will put on it."

Finnick dug his nails into his thighs under the table to stay calm. This was perverse - no more perverse than usual, but he couldn't bear to hear them talking about Annie this way. It didn't seem right. She had more than done her bit. She had surprised them all by pulling through, and now they were going to do their best to destroy her in any way that they could, because playing along and simply surviving hadn't been enough for them. It was bread and games for the elite in their search for constant entertainment. In the absence of war, or for the absence of war. Bread and games, parties and overloads of everything, and pets thrown to the wolves, starved or dressed up as dolls from one minute to the next, petted and picked up or abused as they pleased. There was no consistency from one minute to the next, and maybe that was part of the problem in "recovering" from what never ended. _No consistency._ He made a mental note of it. This seemed important.

"I think you should reconsider moving the ceremony" he tried again, despite knowing that the more he pursued this line of argumentation, the more they would want to do just the opposite. "Give us time to make a spectacle of it, rather than do it half-heartedly now. Increase the mystery by delaying it. Leave it till spring." He knew it was hopeless. He knew they had decided.

"No" Crane simply said, already getting up from his chair. "That will be all. The ceremony is to take place on Madradena Day as planned."

"But-"

"Mr Odair" he interrupted sharply. "The ceremony will take place, whether you like it or not, so you had better prepare for it now. The girl , what's-her-name, will have plenty of time to go to her home district and recover there this winter. It has been decided."

_She is standing with her back to him, her hands resting on the railing. "It's been decided, hasn't it?"_

_A cool breeze hits his face as he steps outside, bringing temporary relief to his aching head. "What?"_

"_Everything. How all this will end."_

_He hesitates, considering his answer for a moment. Maybe the notion that everything is pre-determined gives her comfort. Maybe it makes the upcoming days less frightening for her. On second thought, no, it's a terrible idea. It gives them even more control. "There's still the Games. I know they all…bet on the winners and such, but to be honest, you never really can tell in advance." The urge to say something encouraging and entirely trivial is there. A 'hey, don't give up yet' or 'you can do it', 'just believe', but somehow, the lie won't cross his lips, although he is so accustomed to lying. _

_She doesn't respond. It's as if she is far away in the arena already, and although he knows it will make it harder, he also knows what a terrible feeling it is to be alone during what could well be the last night of your life. So he steps forward, moving beside her. In front of them, the lights of the city sparkle, the noise from below strangely muted, searchlights scanning the night sky. "It's not over yet. Everything's possible." Not too much of a lie._

"_It is?" Her voice sounds so casual, and he turns his head to find her smiling, actually smiling. "No, nothing in this is a coincidence."_

"_That's what they want you to think." He finds he is getting irritated with her again despite himself. She never listens to anything he says, exposing any polite exchange as superficial. She's exhausting to mentor. Worst of all, he hasn't managed to coax up any fighting spirit in her. She might as well just lie down and die right away, and part of him is terrified that that's just what she'll do. "If you think that way, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy."_

_Her smile fades, but she is still looking straight ahead, not even looking at him. "Finnick, we couldn't even jump off this balcony if we wanted to. They won't even give us that option."_

"_That's because you'd flatten their wigs" he blurts out, and he is glad to see her laugh at it, if briefly. He can't take the heaviness now, this talk of jumping off balconies and the utter pointlessness of their pre-determined existence. _

_They pause, standing in comfortable silence while watching the vehicles float by below. They move so fast it's almost a steady stream of light. He glances over at Annie again and somehow, she looks taller to him tonight, more herself without the silly make-up Lilac has been putting on her, no flowers pinned to her, dressed in a simple white robe, her hair flowing freely about her. He thinks that he wants to remember her this way, and immediately punishes himself for the pre-emptive thought. _

"_Come to say goodbye, haven't you?" she asks quietly, and it scares him how accurate this statement is, how close to his own thoughts, closer than he had realised when he'd gone out to find her to tell her to get some sleep like a good mentor._

"_Come to tell you good luck" he lies, and this lie comes easily. _

"_That would take a lot of luck."_

"_You just have to run. Seriously, Annie, just run, especially tomorrow. Don't think of anything else. Get away from that platform as fast as you can. You're fast, faster than the others perhaps. Just don't look back, don't start a fight" -as if she would- "just run."_

_She nods, wrapping her arms around her upper body. _

"_Getting cold? It's no good weakening yourself now. You should go inside and-"_

"_-get some sleep, I know. I'll be right in. Just give me another moment, okay? Just a moment."_

_He hesitates. "Okay. But don't spend all night out here, okay?"_

"_I won't."_

_He doesn't wait, he doesn't watch her. This is enough. He has done everything he can for her. "Good night." _

_As he moves back towards the door, she turns to him. "I wouldn't have jumped, you know. Not really."_

"_I know."_


	4. Chapter 4

"Look who's here!" the nurse exclaimed with the exaggerated enthusiasm only a capitol citizen could muster. "Your mentor himself!"

"Handsome as ever" the second nurse, Ena, commented with a pinch of sarcasm, throwing one swift, disapproving glance at her younger colleague while slipping a shoe on Annie's foot. He was relieved to see that she was looking better still, sitting upright on the edge of her bed with her hair brushed, and pleasantly surprised to find her dressed in regular clothes in the form of an odd blue woolen dress.

"You flatter me, Madam" he replied with a gracious bow to the nurses. "It is not every day I get to visit two beauties at once. It's a good thing I don't have to choose."

Ena held up her hand to silence him, although the corners of her mouth were twitching. "Enough with this nonsense."

The younger woman rolled her eyes. "Oh, Ena…"

"Don't you have other patients to take care of, Maralee?"

It was the two of them again, only these two nurses who had been here from the start to care for Annie. It hadn't taken him long to recognise that this was no mere coincidence, that the task was purposefully kept between just the two of them. The only other people who came in here were avoxes, silent servants to the system, and the charade that had been kept up about "other patients", the empty beds on this ward, was no coincidence either. They were both carers and guards in one, the stern Ena and the sweet, easy-to-lead Maralee.

"No, I wanted to be here to tell him the good news." Maralee flashed him a dazzling smile -literally dazzling, thanks to her diamond-covered teeth- and gushed on. "The head doctor has decided that our Annie here is to have some fresh air to help her…spirits. And because she has been so good today and all of yesterday, and eaten well and improved, she will be allowed outside for a walk. You may go with her, if you wish."

"That's great." He smiled at Annie, who was looking down at her shoes as if they were foreign objects. This was a chance to talk, with fewer chances of being overheard than in here, although they would without a doubt be watched.

"Two of the guards will be with you for your protection." Ena explained. "I have called them up, they should be here at any moment."

"I'm sure that won't be-"

"They won't walk with you -the doctor didn't think it a good idea- but they will be there if you need them."

"How considerate" he remarked, hoping, as usual, that there was no overt sarcasm in his voice. He couldn't help but marvel at the kindness of this doctor, who had been so supportive at the meeting, so concerned for Annie's welfare. Or was he misreading the signs? This was clearly one sympathetic medical officer. But was she sympathetic to humans in general, bound by her profession? Did she pity her patients as one might pity a wounded animal, or was she sympathetic to their cause? She had certainly seemed trapped in some sort of ethical dilemma. He had to find a way of meeting with this head doctor. He had to ask Mags to find out more about her.

"Won't it be lovely to be out and about, my pet?" Maralee asked cheerfully, beaming at Annie.

To his surprise, Annie smiled slightly, or at least moved her lips in the general direction and nodded meekly.

The doors swished open and two officers marched in, dressed in full uniform, armed to the teeth. Great. One of them was Maddox. Annie immediately shrank back from them towards the bed, but Maralee grasped her biceps to keep her from sitting back down. "Oh, is this really necessary?"

"We have the order to escort a patient outside, Nurse" the other officer, a brunette woman with a strict ponytail, stated. "We are merely doing our duty."

"What, no helmets?" They looked as if they were armed for battle, dressed in the grey uniforms of the iron league, with red stripes and magnets on the sides of their sleeves to denote their ranks. Officer Hon. of the 3rd Quarter and Officer Hon. of the 4th, he noticed - lower order officers, but high enough to carry class one arms and report to headquarters.

"Don't push it, Odair" Maddox replied.

"When you brought all your best gear out of storage? No, no, I'd be a fool to push you. Arms are a wonderful deterrent, aren't they?" He knew it was reckless to taunt Maddox, but any change in his own behaviour would alert the officer. And yes, also, he simply couldn't help himself. He would let Maddox win at their next game of Jakok he played with some of the officers, and they would be even.

"I'm warning you, I have no problem cutting your walk short and taking you back inside."

"Understood. Shall we, mylady?" He rolled his wrist and held out his hand to Annie in an exaggerated knightly gesture he had seen in one of the aired capitol programmes.

She hesitated before taking his hand, and his stomach gave the strangest little jolt as her fingers brushed against his palm. He enclosed them lightly with his own, not wanting to hold on too tightly so she could break the contact if she wanted to. She didn't. They walked down the dim corridor hand in hand, one guard ahead and one behind them, and perhaps it was the awkwardness of this or the fact that they were being treated like captives that made his senses overly alert, made him feel like his palm was excessively sweaty, made him strangely conscious of his breathing and the length of his strides. He was looking straight ahead, not daring to steal a glance at Annie in case this might be misinterpreted by her or the guards.

They exited the building through a set of thick doors which could only be opened by fingerprint, i.d. code and retinal scan, and if there had been any doubt about their state of security up till now, this made it perfectly clear. If his sense of direction was correct, this door was facing inward within this maze of buildings, so they would most likely be brought to some sort of courtyard near their experimentation grounds. He squinted at the blaze of sunlight as it took him a moment to adjust to this new brightness. A cool breeze hit them and the rustle of leaves told him that they had to be in some sort of forest. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he scanned his environment in an instant. What little worry he had had about this new environment triggering something in Annie had dissipated as he realised that it bore absolutely no resemblance to her arena, and that they had actually been brought to a perfectly pleasant place. Unlike a courtyard, this location carried the illusion that they were in a wide open space, surrounded by nature. Ahead of them was an early spring meadow, not filled with flowers yet but lush and green as far as the eye could see. To the right, this meadow was lined by an old-fashioned wire fence with more meadow behind it, which gave off a quiet hum. To the left, there was indeed some kind of sparse forest, or at least leaf trees which had grown loosely next to each other. Those trees might provide semi-decent cover and an opportunity to talk, or there might be cameras hidden in them.

He turned to the guards. "We'll be fine now, thanks."

The unknown one stopped in his tracks. "Don't go too far or you'll hit a barrier." He looked at Maddox, who shrugged and positioned himself against the doors, turning his face to the sun.

"Yes, yes, we'll be good." He gave them a half-hearted wave and set off towards the trees, gently pulling Annie along. She followed without resistance, taking in her surroundings with a curious expression.

"What a change of scenery, huh?" They passed through the first few trees, which were throwing long shadows in the afternoon sun. He decided to keep to the sunny patches wherever he could. Sun had to be healthy. "You're quiet today. How are you doing?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Are you?" He searched her face, her posture for clues. She was looking much better. Although she was thin the nurses had said she had eaten well, and her appearance was tidier. She seemed stronger and had no trouble keeping up with him, although he was walking slowly. Some colour had come back into her skin and as she tucked her hair behind her ear with one hand, he noticed that her cheeks were blushing slightly in the cool wind.

"I'm better."

"I'm glad."

They walked in silence for a bit, moving further away from the guards, their feet placed on soft, mossy ground. Blackbirds were sitting in the trees and Annie smiled at them, stopping to watch a group take flight. He wished they could always meet like this, without other people or sterile surroundings, without mentoring duties and -he had to acknowledge this- holding hands. It was nice to have this innocent human contact, free of anything else, anything sexual or dangerous, nice for himself as much as her. He wanted to be free of any obligation, free even of causes and fights and secrecy. He knew he had to break this spell eventually to talk to her about the victor's ceremony, but he couldn't bring himself to broach the subject, not yet. He just wanted to walk with her all afternoon and be glad, be hopeful that she was starting to feel better and that she, too, would recover in time.

And then, her face twitched out of the blue into a contorted expression, and she leapt two steps forward, yanking him along. "Annie, what the…"

She laughed at nothing in particular and shook her head, immersed in her own world. Okay, so that was a little odd, but who wasn't? He would just need to distract her, keep her focused, pull her back from that.

"Have you thought about what kind of house you would like after you…after you leave here? You'll get a victor's house picked for you, but you have some leeway in deciding what it will look like."

"Open."

"Open?"

"Open" she said quietly. "I don't want to be trapped."

"You won't be" he lied. "We won't let that happen."

She swallowed and looked downcast all of a sudden, her mood changing as quickly as the wind had died down. "On solid ground."

"Yes, on solid ground" he repeated. This part was doable. Many of the houses in the fishing villages were built on stilts, but she wouldn't be living in a village among her people. She would be shut off at victor's village like Mags and him, presumably to avoid too much contact, to increase their control over them. "You'll have a house, you'll have plenty to eat and share with everyone else, you'll have whatever you want."

She shook her head. "No."

He squeezed her hand. "It will get easier with time, I promise. And then you'll be able to help us and…" He wasn't able to say more here. "…and there's not just me and Mags, you know, there are others. You'll have people."

"People?" she asked, looking blankly at him. "No, they're all dead."

"No, the victors from previous years, they got through and…other people. And there's your brother, he came to wish you luck before the Games, didn't he?"

She abruptly pulled her hand from his and skipped ahead of him. "I don't want to talk about that now. The doctor said I can go home soon."

"Yes, once-" he hesitated, wary of her quick changes and the things she didn't want to talk about. He didn't want to spoil this afternoon for her, but there were some things that had to be talked about.

"Once?"

"Once the victor's celebration ceremony is over. You'll have to attend that before."

She leaned against the rough bark of a tree trunk, closing her eyes and letting the sun shine on her face. "So warm."

"Annie? Did you hear what I just said? You'll have to have the victor's ceremony before you can go home."

She turned her head and opened her eyes again, and for a brief instant, he thought he saw a flicker of fear. But it disappeared almost too fast for him to notice. "Okay."

"It's in three days." Better to give all the unpleasant information right away, while she could take it in. "Can you do that?" Not that she had a choice.

"What do I do?"

"Nothing. You don't really need to do anything at all. Just look pretty and walk out and get the crown. And maybe…maybe they'll ask you a few questions. Just the usual." He had obtained Cesar Flickerman's private assurances that he would keep it brief. Cesar wasn't a cruel man. Contrary to his act, he was actually pretty sensible. Finnick hoped he wouldn't go into too much depth about the arena. As long as they hadn't pressured him to provoke anything…

"Questions?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Don't worry. Just use short answers; don't say a lot." He had debated practicing with her, but however improved Annie was, she didn't really seem up to a practice session. Mags had disagreed with him about this, had underlined the necessity of preparing her, like any victor, irrespective of her wellbeing. She had told him anything else was short-sighted. But he didn't want to push her. There were no answers Annie could give that would be satisfactory to them. They weren't really interested in her answers in any case. They would, he knew, want the audience to see if she was crazy or not, still hiding behind rocks or muttering. The crazier, the better. They wanted to heat up the rumours about her again that had emerged ever since she had left the arena and not made a public appearance since. There was no way to prepare her for that. It didn't matter either way.

"I won't."

"If they ask you about…about what happened…say it's been hard. That has to be enough."

She turned away from him, crossing her arms in front of her while still leaning against the tree trunk.

"Sorry" he said quietly. "I'm sorry, I tried to keep them from doing this. I couldn't."

"It's fine."

"You'll get a break after the ceremony."

"Yes."

"We'll be there, me and Mags. If you're not feeling well or don't know what to say, just look at us, okay? Don't pay attention to the audience." Which was impossible, as he knew perfectly well. He hesitated, remembering what that doctor had said about control and giving safety or something like that -how would she know?- but what seemed to be more important to him was knowing what was going to happen next. Nothing was as bad as the endless uncertainty that went with these "games", and the countless times when you were unable to do anything about it. "They'll…probably be loud, like before, cheering and applauding and maybe even shouting things. Don't worry, they always do that, it's not about you. Ignore it."

She had started humming to herself, much to his irritation, as he was getting impatient with her against his will. She wasn't supposed to ignore _him_. A distant, calm expression had replaced the apathy of before. She was slipping away again. But at least he had warned her and he seemed to have gotten through to her with it.

"Annie?" He moved slightly closer. "Talk to me, please." He raised his hand to put it on her shoulder, but lowered it again, remembering that it might be a bad idea.

She inclined her head. "I need to run."

"Don't say that." He wasn't sure what she was talking about, exactly, but this wasn't a good direction.

"I need to run fast."

"Shh. Don't talk about that sort of thing here." He threw a nervous glance up the tree trunk, looking for any signs of microphones.

"Here?" She looked around, as if confused for a moment where exactly she was. "Oh." She shook her head and marched off.

"Annie? Annie!" He had to hurry to keep up with her. "Do you remember what we've just been talking about?"

"I'm not stupid! Leave me alone!" She wouldn't slow down but was clearly trying to shake him off, zig sagging around the trees.

"I know, I know, look we-"

"The Games!" she shouted back over her shoulder. "The interviews. The Games, always."


	5. Chapter 5

"Where is she? She'll have to go on any minute." He was pacing up and down the narrow corridor, unable to stand still. Members of the tech crew kept squeezing past him, shooting him an irritated look if he bumped into them.

"Stop fretting" Mags mumbled indistinctly. "I only just checked and they were putting on the finishing touches."

"Well, they need to stop giving her a new face and get her out here." He had to shout the last part over a round of applause and cheers. Oh no, what had he missed? Had the President gone on yet? No, one glance at the large screen they had backstage revealed that it was merely Cesar doing one of his bits. The pre-show was going on for an unusually long time this year. They had already interviewed the mentors (questioning him extensively on his "love life") and shown the highlights of this year's Games. It had grown dark outside, although you couldn't tell by the glare of the stage lights.

Finally, two young women rounded the corner, and the stage manager who was walking past gasped. "Gorgeous!"

It was Annie, only a dolled up version once again. He wasn't sure if "gorgeous" was the word he'd use, but she did have a pretty, fairy-like look in a dark forest green dress that matched her eyes. The corsage was plain, while the wide skirt was covered in a sheer, shimmering tulle. A matching piece of tulle was draped around her bare shoulders. Her dark hair had been put into corkscrew curls that framed her lean face, and her shimmering make-up was accentuated by long eyelashes with threads of gold woven into them. He sized up what they were going for: She was positively magical, feminine and tragic.

Mags approved the styling with a contented nod, and tugged at the tulle to rearrange it around the skirt and shoulders, revealing more of them. When the assistant who had accompanied Annie tried to interfere, Mags slapped her hand away, and the woman huffed and turned on her heel to leave. The girl stood very still throughout this, seemingly apathetic to the bustle around her.

He made himself smile. "Look at you, all outer-worldly and ready to enchant them."

She forced a smile in return, and he could see how tense she was, how much the bustle and attention around her bothered her. They hadn't put her on tranquilizers. Good. Harder for her, but good for the show. Good if he wanted to convince them she wasn't built for this.

"Ready to go up?" he asked, holding out his hand to her. She would need a hand walking up the stairs in this skirt and these heels. Why were women always disabled by their clothing?

She put her hand on his palm, and he squeezed it gently, leading her up the steps. He had been right about the shoes causing her trouble. She nearly tripped several times on the high heels, and seemed to slow down by the second as they ascended towards the stage. When she lost her balance once again, he stopped her, making a sudden decision. "Take your shoes off."

She stared at him, puzzled. "What?"

"Take them off. You won't need them out there." He bent down to help her out of them, and she let him take them without questioning. "There, that's better, isn't it?"

She looked at him uncertainly, and as he came up again, he took the chance to whisper. "It will be okay. Remember: short, simple answers. It'll be over soon, and we'll be here when you return."

She did not acknowledge his assurances. Sometimes, he wished he had her ability to retreat into herself. He scolded himself for the horrible thought, as they approached the glaring light. His own stomach fluttered as he let go of her hand.

She walked on stage hesitantly, no longer hindered by needing to keep her balance. Cesar Flickermann in his royal blue suit was waiting, his arms wide open, a broad grin on his tanned face. A roar of applause and cheers rose, replaced by whistling and bursts of laughter as soon as the audience noticed her bare feet.

Cesar gave off a gasp of theatrical surprise. "Annie, darling!" He approached her, taking her hands in his, and kissing one with a small bow. "Didn't you forget something?"

She stood frozen in place, blinking at the bright stage lights which made her cheeks and eyelashes sparkle.

"Your shoes!" He laughed heartily. "Now I understand that my luminous presence must have made you nervous, but that's no reason not to arrive…fully dressed." He winked at the audience.

Finnick felt a surge of disgust. Cesar was too good at this.

"Why did you leave them off?"

"They hurt" Annie replied calmly, sparking more laughter from the audience.

"Well, you look ravishing anyway. Give us a twirl?"

She didn't spin so much as turn stiffly, which barely made her skirt fly, and once again provoked more laughter which turned into jeering.

"Now, now!" The host shouted in their direction, raising his index finger warningly. He led Annie over to a pale gold sofa, which oddly matched the shoes she had left with Finnick. "Don't mind those rascals out there, pet." His light-hearted, humorous manner couldn't disguise a certain warmth in his statement. "Now, Annie, we're all dying to know what's been going on with you. You haven't shown your face here for quite some time. They moved the victor's ceremony for you. And the last we saw of you was…let's say slightly worrying." She swallowed at this. "Are you doing better now?"

"I'm fine."

"How come you haven't stopped by earlier? What were you doing?"

"Sleeping."

More laughter. She was certainly taking this 'short answers' thing seriously, Finnick thought. Good. This was going well; she was keeping the audience entertained enough while being tedious for the news network to work with. Mags, who had crept up beside him, gave a satisfied nod and patted him on the back, whatever for.

"You must have been very tired then."

"Yes."

"And very chatty today, I see." He raised his eyebrows. "You know, you can't let me do all the talking. They already know me out there."

She didn't react and her gaze was starting to turn glassy. Cesar seemed to notice she was about to drift off, as he leaned forward. "But of course, we've all just re-watched the footage of your most crucial moments in the arena. Tell me, where did you learn to swim like that?"

She looked into the black space of the audience without seeing, and her face was pure stone as she said "Back home."

"That would be District 4, our trusted fishing district. Did you go out on the boats often?"

"Yes."

"Who did you go with?"

"My father." She barely seemed fazed by the persistent questions, but her posture was very upright. She didn't lean back on the sofa.

"No boys your own age?" He smirked at her knowingly.

"No."

"Ah, I'm sure that's going to change soon…you'll be doing a lot of sailing out with boys now, I expect."

"No."

"All right then." Cesar winked again. "We'll see. At least you're prepared for anything now." He tugged on his suit jacket. "Erm, now… I suppose you get a lot of wild weather down in District 4? A lot of storms at sea?"

"Not like that" she said quietly. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Finnick found he was clutching her shoes likewise.

The host's expression turned serious. "No, of course not. Were you afraid you'd drown?"

What kind of a dumb question was that? Even Mags winced at it. Annie didn't respond, still wringing her hands.

"Annie" His voice was barely above a whisper now, which produced a dramatic effect. "Did you think you would die, like the others?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She swallowed.

"Truthfully?"

"Y- yes."

Cesar leaned in even further. "That must have been very frightening. I can see why you wanted to hide earlier."

Suddenly, she covered her ears and began rocking back and forth in her seat, humming quietly to herself. Oh no. Oh no, she was doing it again, and it would make her the laughing stock of the crowd. Finnick wanted to storm on stage and pull her away from there, but somehow, no one laughed. It was too perplexing, apparently, and a tad creepy.

Cesar, ever the professional, betrayed no surprise or helplessness. "Oh dear, I can see I've started this again. And I haven't even gotten to asking about Reg yet…"

"It wasn't my fault" she muttered.

"Of course not, but you were there so I just want to ask you some questions if that's-"

But she wasn't talking to him. "It wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault…"

"We know that, love, but what I meant to say was-"

"It wasn't my fault!" she suddenly yelled, shoving the host away from her and jumping to her feet. "Leave me alone!"

Even Cesar flinched at this outburst, and took a second to find his smile. "And, with that clear statement, we have to take a short break. For those of you out there glued to your screens, we'll be back quicker than you- quicker than _she_ can say 'itwasn'tmyfault'."

A sort of white screen quickly slid out from both sides of the stage, meeting in the middle to shield it from the view of the live audience, who were loudly expressing their disappointment. The second it closed, many things happened at once. Cesar's smile faded and he sharply said "get her out of here", Finnick and Mags rushed on stage, a couple of security officers were faster and grabbed Annie's arms, leading her off stage without a struggle, the stage manager shouted "what in Panem was that?", advertisements began flashing on the small screen that showed the live program, the program director ordered someone to get her the Games Master to go on earlier, and stage assistants began to rearrange the furniture.

"Hey, let go of her, she's not giving you any trouble!" Finnick objected, as Mags already swatted at the security guards' arms with her bag. The two broad-shouldered men abandoned their grips, handing over their charge to the mentors. Mags put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her towards the stairs. Annie allowed it meekly, stuck in something like shock. He could see that her pale skin was shining with sweat.

"You did fine" he whispered, "Just fine, don't worry."

"It wasn't…it wasn't my fault" she said pleadingly, looking at him properly for the first time that evening. Her elaborate make-up was starting to run down her face.

He could feel a lump in his throat. "I know. It's all right…shh, be quiet…" They headed down the stairs, down the corridor that led to the dressing rooms. But before he had a chance to get an unobserved minute with Annie and calm her down, they came across a group of assistants, who bustled around them.

"They've changed the order" one of them announced, addressing her colleagues rather than the mentors. "So we must get her ready." Another started dabbing at Annie's face rather roughly with a tissue. "The formal ceremony will happen straight after Crane's interview. The President knows already." A third tugged at the girl's dress, who simply let it happen.

"They've changed the order?" Finnick asked, confused. "But what-"

"Arms up, dear!" Before they realised what was going to happen, one of the stylists pulled Annie's dress down, making her step out of it. She was left standing in the busy corridor in nothing but her lower undergarments, and quickly covered her chest with her arms.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He turned sideways, looking away embarrassed. "Not here!"

"Move this to the dressing room!" Mags bellowed decisively, stepping between Annie and the people passing by to shield her from view.

"Can't do, there's no time, you heard Shawl!" The man with the pink hair pulled out an orange piece of flowing fabric, draping it around Annie in a sort of tunic, from what he could make out, while the one called Shawl attempted to fix her make-up. "Now, if we pin it here-"

"What was wrong with the dress Lux picked out?" He was baffled by all this chaos, irritated by the hectic panic they were causing.

"Change of plans, Crane decided everything has to go with the whole orange theme of this year. You two will need to change, too." Orange theme? Since when did they do colours as a theme? "Barefoot works ever so well with this."

Annie gasped. "Sorry, dear, didn't mean to stick you. This really needs more pins- Yespina!" he shouted to a girl down the corridor. "More pins over here, please! Quickly!" They were quick indeed, putting the finishing touches on the new improvised dress with the help of Mags and the assistants. "Speaking of sticking, I nearly forgot…sorry, kid, Doctor's orders."

"Hey, don't-" But Finnick's objection was too slow. Before he could even react, the pink-haired man had stuck a proper needle into Annie's arm, one which he was sure he recognised all too well from months of dulling his senses after his own Games… Damn it! You got used to this stuff way too quickly.

"That should help with the shaking."

"And the sweating, hopefully!" Shawl, who was still applying powder to Annie's face, added.

"That's enough!" Mags interjected. "She looks fine now. Don't crowd the poor girl."

Annie swayed slightly and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. "Shit…" He grabbed her arms, shaking her. "Annie? Annie!" She opened them again, looking back at him with an empty expression.

"She's all right" Mags muttered quietly. "They didn't give her enough to do any real harm. Just to calm her nerves. Might be for the best."

"Mags, you know how dangerous-"

"Hush now. You're all right, aren't you?" she asked her charge with a toothless smile, which was probably supposed to be reassuring.

"Mh-hm." Annie smiled back at them, a gentle, slow, glassy-eyed smile he had seen often in the darker alleys of the Capitol. Mags was right, though - at least the shaking had stopped.

Annie would be able to get through the ceremony just fine. No fear, no pain, no memories. Just the moment.


End file.
